By now the lump, that only six months ago <br />had started out as a possible zit on the top of my head <br />has reached the size of a small Brussels sprout; <br />and it’s too bad because I like Brussels sprouts <br />I’m just glad it isn’t the size of a half gallon of Rum <br />or a two liter bottle of Diet Pepsi; because that would be <br />a real bummer and probably be call for a tall stiff drink. <br />I remember as a kid when I had jumped in a deep ditch <br />and knocked out my front teeth. It was nothing major; <br />a root canal, a little pain killer and a doctor’s note for school. <br />The note was the most important of the three. <br />But today at my advanced age; everything is a death sentence <br />and you don’t even get the sympathy notes anymore. <br />Those sweet cards with notations <br />that usually accompany such events; at least <br />when you were younger, people could still look you straight in the eye; <br />these days everybody expects you to fall to your knees, <br />clutch your heart and audition for that lifetime achievement award; <br />but in reality, all they really want is to put you in a room with the other vegetables; <br />where they conceal your meds in the cold broccoli with lumpy cheese sauce… <br /> <br />(c) 2008 T Sheridan<br /><br />Ted Sheridan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lumpy-sauce-and-cold-broccoli/
